


All The Home We Know

by eating_eyeballs



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Attempted Suicide, Canon Divergence, Carl is aware, Dimension Travel, Gen, Minecraft In Real Life, Minecraft Realism, Panic Attack, Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Real Life in Minecraft, Takes place post-war and pre-exile
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:53:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28603995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eating_eyeballs/pseuds/eating_eyeballs
Summary: Techno wakes up in Minecraft. What will he do.(He will dissociate himself from the situation)
Comments: 99
Kudos: 359





	1. Introduction; The Situation

**Author's Note:**

> If you notice any spelling, grammatical, or consistency errors, please comment! If it’s bothering you, it’s bothering others, and I’m the only one who can fix it, so don’t be afraid to tell me.

Every morning he’s woken up by a small line of sunshine that peaks just the right way through the split in his curtains. It’s angled just enough to hit his face. He needs to fix that, he tells himself, except that he won’t. Alarms never seem to work, and that line of sun has been the only thing consistently waking him.

And that’s how he was supposed to wake this morning. He was supposed to flinch at the light, roll over, groan, shuffle out of bed, etc,. 

But this morning he woke to no sun. His room was pitch black, and his bed was not his own. The mattress was too hard, the comforter was too thin, and the pillow was so flat it was almost nonexistent.

He slowly and carefully sits up, and for some unknown reason, he knows exactly where he is. 

_My Base_ , he tells himself.

He rubs his eyes, and he is all too aware of the ways his body isn’t his own.

First and most importantly of all:

He feels not entirely human.

As he steps out into a world where the rising sun barely greets him and his salmon hair runs down in a long braid, he knows where he is. 

He tries really hard not to hyperventilate and pass out, but he thinks the reaction is appropriate when you’ve suddenly woken up inside a video game.

\- - -

When the black dots clear from his vision a couple seconds later, he lets himself rest in the snow. He tries to take everything in, he really does, but some part of himself is refusing to believe any of it. Maybe he is still in a dream.

But he’s never passed out in a dream. He’s never felt the cold dig into him like this in a dream.

Speaking of, he should probably head inside.

Once again, for some reason he knows exactly what to do.

He grabs tiny pieces of flint and steel off of a small table next to his bed and lights the two lanterns in his room. He then sits on his bed, trying to think of what to do next.

But thinking hurts. Thinking would be too confusing right now, so instead he tries to go through some semblance of his morning routine.

He grabs bread and some butter- and for a moment he thanks whatever god put him here that they gave him more than the regular Minecraft food- and sits in his main room. 

Apparently he didn’t think through the ‘not thinking’ plan, because now he is in a large empty room all alone. 

He closes his eyes and tries to scratch behind his neck. He’s met with a handful of hair, and he jerks his hand away. He feels like he’s being shoved around by the ocean while his mind tears between ‘hair is too long’ and ‘this is completely normal’.

But if nothing else, he should’ve thought through the showering part (he thanks the god again for giving him showers). 

As he undresses, his jaw tenses as he sees ~~his~~ this body.

He sees muscles, clear skin, and pig ears. He needs a moment to digest that. 

One moment turns into several moments. 

He shudders, trying not to think about his ears- long ears? LONG ears?- or his unnaturally sharp canines, or his too long nails, or anything at all.

He scrunches his eyes shut trying to halt the thought process. Obviously it doesn’t work. Trying to stop his thoughts feels like using an umbrella in a hurricane. 

He still wants the shower, though. He showers every morning, so he has to shower this morning. 

He keeps his eyes closed the whole time, and that’s gotta be the record for the world’s shortest shower. 

He wraps a towel around himself and tries to keep his hair out of his face. It’s dripping wet and getting all over the floor and _damn_ his hair has never been this long-

He opens his eyes to look at himself in the mirror when he’s done, and a wave of naseau rolls over him. 

This is not his body, but _it is._

The mirror provides a healthy distraction. There are no mirrors in Minecraft, but there are some here. Wherever this is. But mirrors are made from a certain ore, and he doesn’t know the name of the ore, how far underground it is, what kind of-

His eyes glaze over as he thinks important thoughts. He realizes he’s been on autopilot when he blinks and he’s back in his room.

He needs clothes. He needs the clothes.

All of his clothes are almost the same size as they would be normally. Thankfully he still has the same height and general body shape. Well, besides the pig part.

He shakes that thought away as he buttons his shirt up. He leaves the top button undone- the villager who made this shirt for him had gotten the measurement wrong, so the collar just suffocates him.

He blinks at that thought. A villager made him this shirt. He remembers her vividly, too. He didn’t know her spoken language, but they both knew Gestures. 

He spares another blink when he realizes he knows another language. 

_Another,_ his brain rattles, _if you count Piglin._

He sniffs and pulls some pants on.

If he’s being honest, they’re too high-waisted. The top button reaches past his hips. He’d never wear pants like this. But then he remembers his sash, a long, velvet maroon thing an apprentice weaver had given him when he saved him from some mobs.

He carefully wraps it around his waist, his hands knowing exactly how to knot it. He spares a look in the mirror- because there’s _another_ one in his room- and for a moment, he’s content. Everything is normal and this happens each morning.

He lets that feeling rest in the back of his head. 

He braids his hair as he walks, because he knows how to braid now. 

His feet carry him to the armory. 

He grabs his armor and stashes it away. He’s not sure how the inventory mechanics work now, because he can’t see his armor, but he knows he has it.

He grabs potions, enderpearls, two crossbows, a regular bow, an axe, and his sword. 

His sword rests sheathed at his hip instead of in his inventory. It should’ve thrown him off balance, considering how heavy it is, but it feels natural, like it’s a part of him.

Before he steps outside he grabs his cloak off of the coat rack. It’s thick, made from polar bear and various animal furs. He had a deal with the weaver- he collects the materials, she makes him something great.

He starts to realize he might be a bit of a douchebag if all of his clothes are custom made.

He shakes his head and steps out into the snow.

The wind has picked up significantly since this morning, cutting into his face and ears. He pulls his cloak closer as he makes his way to Carl.

“Mornin’,” he greets the horse. 

He runs his tongue over his too long canines and decides he doesn’t like them. 

Carl returns his greeting. Not in words, just one long, silent stare.

Techno hoists himself into the saddle before flicking the reigns. The wind claws into his face, and he closes his eyes against the biting knives. 

One of his hands finds its way into Carl’s mane. He hasn’t brushed him in a while.

Brushing can wait, though. For now he’s only focused on getting back to the others. 

He knows there’s a chance they might not be there. And that would be a good thing, because he has no idea how to get out of this place. But at the same time, a small part of him hopes and prays.

He doesn’t want to be alone.


	2. Apples to Sundown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exploration.

The sun is high in the sky when he sees buildings dotting the horizon line. Well, he says see. He knows they’re there because he knows this map like the back of his hand- in reality, he can barely make out the blurs. Apparently Minecraft can give him abs, but not fix his nearsightedness.

Carl’s pace has slowed since they’ve left, so he decides to give him a break and walk the rest of the way. He keeps him on a lead, but only as a formality. The horse is smart enough to know not to run. And even if he did, he’d know the way back home.

As the two weave through the spruce trees, Techno squints up at the sun. Time is passing normally. The regular twenty-minute day has turned into twelve hours.

He makes a mental note (which he knows he’ll forget later anyway) to grab a book and quill. He’ll need to start making a list of everything different in order to keep things straight.

As they near the border, his ears flick towards a noise in the distance. It’s too far away to be in his line of sight, but he’d recognize the clink of bones anywhere.

He should’ve known there were going to be mobs. 

He contemplates bringing out his bow when he realizes he has no idea how to. He tries to reach for the weird feeling he got when he picked it up, but there’s nothing. 

He scratches at his jawline, trying to figure out the best way to do this without it being weird. 

The sound of bones grows closer, and a feeling of hot air ignites up his chest. He coughs, startled, and when he opens his eyes a large glowing rectangle greets him.

Slightly transparent and with the same layout as before, he knows exactly what this is. 

He grabs his bow and his inventory blinks out of existence. His heart beats harder as he draws the weapon back, aiming it directly where he knew the skeleton was.

He holds, waiting for the bones to appear from out behind the trees. The only thing he can hear is his own heartbeat. 

The rattle sounds again, and this time it’s further away. He briefly considers that there’s another mob now, except for the fact that the rattles sounded exactly the same. 

He stashes his bow away and trudges on. He briefly thinks about the fact that the last time he even looked at a bow was in sixth grade on a field trip. He shakes his head, and another memory surges forward. Him and Phil going into a village, the local weapon smith, his first bow, Phil teaching him- 

When they finally break the tree line, they end up beside Eret’s Castle. And he has to step back and look at this thing, because it is _huge._ His eyes catch on the stained glass- there’s reflections of rainbows smattered across the walls and ground, and the entrance alone is over twice his height.

He’s about to go in to look around more when he remembers the objective: find the others.

The wooden path creaks under their feet as they roam. It’s painfully handmade, but sturdy. The wind whistles as it whips around the different buildings nearby, and it makes it seem as if he’s in a ghost town.

They pass through the community house and check everywhere all the way to Manburg. Or is it L’Manburg? He can’t be too bothered to keep up with the conflict.

He feeds Carl an apple.

“I think we’re alone out here,” Techno says gruffly, combing his fingers through Carl’s mane.

Carl turns to meet his gaze, and Techno just sighs. 

He pulls out another apple, taking a bite himself. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast, and he’s starting to feel the effects.

His ears flick to the sound of a distant hissing. He clocks the green blur in his peripherals about 50 feet away, making its way towards him and Carl.

His inventory comes up easier now. It takes a couple seconds longer than he’d like, but he doesn’t choke on the warm feeling again. 

He takes out his crossbow with one hand, using his other to finish his apple.

He’s never shot a crossbow before, much less held one, so when the first bolt hits it dead between the eyes, he’s more than a little surprised.

The second bolt goes just as easy, and the creeper is reduced to a pile of ash. 

His crossbow is set back in his inventory and he looks back at Carl. He stares into the horse’s eyes, half-spacing, half-thinking. If he’s being honest, he’s hoping the horse will just start giving him answers right then and there. He takes the last bite of his apple and blinks. 

“Is this awkward for you too?” He asks. Carl snorts.

He sighs and tosses the core to the ground. He eyes the pile of ash on the ground. Or is it gunpowder? He steps off the wooden path and makes his way toward it.

Out of curiosity, he squats downs and runs his fingers through the pile. It burns, and he whips his hand back. 

He stands up and kicks the ashes into the wind, where they dissolve into nothing. He shakes his burnt hand and Carl watches him curiously.

“What?” He asks.

He distantly realizes he’s still hungry. All he had were those two apples, both of which he stole from the community house.

He glances around, trying to make out blurry figures in the distance, and he sighs when nothing stands out.

Carl digs a hoof into the wooden path, huffing at him. Techno huffs back at him. Carl looks him in the eyes and nods his head toward the side, turning so he’s facing the sun.

The sun that’s setting.

He quickly goes through a list of all the houses in his head. He needs the smallest and safest one. 

And that’s going to be a problem, because most of the people on this server like to build hollow towers for no reason other than their own stupidity.

Carl and him make their way out of L’Manburg, and he can see the lights from Purpled’s UFO in the distance. He knows that that’s probably the safest option out of anywhere he can stay, but there’s a huge problem.

Purpled uses a water elevator. He’d have to spend the night soaking wet. On top of that, he’d have to leave Carl on the ground.

But as they make their way through the earthen tunnel back out of L’Manburg, Tommy’s base catches his eye. He briefly checked on it before, just a small glance to see if anyone was there. The rest of his options either aren’t lit well or have holes in the walls, so he carefully guides Carl inside the small room. 

He blocks off the entrance to the railway, and the way he places blocks is so similar to the game it makes him dizzy. He backs up against the wall, slowly sliding down it. Carl watches him sink the whole way down.

Techno meets his gaze and sighs. “We didn’t do anything except walk around,” he scratches at the neat stone floors, resting his head on the wall behind him. “First objective for tomorrow...” he rambles, “I guess we need food,”

His eyes flick over to the chests in the room. Normally, he’d never steal, except that he would.

He rummages through the chest, because he needs to rummage, he can’t just quickly look over a screen, but it’s mostly building blocks. He does find some empty books, each having a decent number of pages in them. He remembers his earlier reminder to himself.

He takes all of them, stashing a couple in his inventory and leaving one in his hand. He slinks back down to the wall and begins to write.

OBSERVATIONS

He scrawls simply on the first page. He scratches at his jawline for a moment, collecting his thoughts, and starts writing.

\- Inventory system = same  
\- 24 hour days  
\- Knowledge of ~~crossbows~~ weapons  
\- Memories of life here  
\- Need glasses   
\- Suddenly trilingual  
\- Pain is real

He pauses after the last one, checking the burn on his finger again. It’s already almost healed. It wasn’t more than an inch in diameter, but the angry red mark is almost gone. 

\- Fast healing - faster when not hungry?

He closes the book, somewhat satisfied with his findings so far, and leans his head back into the wall. As he shuts his eyes, memories seem to flash by on the backs of his eyelids. 

He spent months sitting up while sleeping, training himself to be more and more aware at all times. He remembers going for weeks without sleep, pushing himself more and more because _it was never enough._ A flash of a slashed up tree, whispers in his ear, a hand on his shoulder, the rising sun, and heavy bags under his eyes sends a shiver down his spine. 

_Not mine,_ he reminds himself, _that was not me_

He pulls his cloak around him, trying his best to slump into the warm animal pelts. When he slips away, he dreams of having dinner with his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to space out the updates so there’s no long breaks between each chapter. It’s going to be anywhere from four days to a week between.


	3. How Would a Horse Use a Computer?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short outside POV.

At this point, Tommy was fighting to stay awake. His eyelids would droop, he’d smack himself until he felt less tired, and then he’d repeat. 

Sometime during that cycle Wilbur had started trying to get him to play a game.

“It’s all- like, it’s all got one big story behind it, and I wish more people would pay attention to it,” Wilbur rambles.

He’s only heard about half of what he’s said so far. He should probably say something, but the rant is also keeping him awake. 

Why is he staying awake? He has no reason to, he could- no, he should go to bed. 

“-but the company, Cobalt, they- which, by the way, Cobalt is also the name of this radioactive material, so it all kind of, it all kind of ties back together. So this company had gotten the funds-“

The sound of someone joining their call fills his headphones and he jolts up, blinking the sleep away.

“- to experiment- oh, hey Phil,” Wilbur finally halts. 

“Hey,” He greets. “Either of you about to start streaming?”

“Phil, you’ve got to help me,” Tommy buts in. He twists his headphone’s wire as he continues. “Wilbur’s explaining the Rust lore,”

Phil laughs, and Wilbur’s icon lights up green. “Because you asked about it!” 

“I did not!” Tommy sits up, previous exhaustion forgotten, “I said- I said ‘Hey, Wilbur, what’s up with this game?’ and you- you gave me a fuckin’ novel,” 

Phil wheezes, trying to get between the two. “Ok- listen, I’m trying to-“

“You could’ve asked me to stop!” Wilbur defends, voice going a bit higher and Tommy realizes he’s embarrassed. 

He quickly jumps back in, ending the bit. “It’s fine, it’s fine, I was about to go to bed anyway. Nice- nice background noise,” he quiets down.

Phil clears his throat, “So, I take it no stream?” he asks.

Wilbur sighs, agitated. “No, not tonight,”

Phil and Wilbur start up some conversation, but Tommy’s not paying attention anymore. His phone buzzes with a notification, and as his screen lights up he sees it’s Reddit.

He unlocks his phone, the thought of Techno sending him memes at the forefront of his mind. 

But when the app opens, it’s just a trending post. 

His first thought is that he should go to bed if he’s hallucinating his notifications. His second thought is wait, hold on, when’s the last time he talked to Techno?

He checks back in their chat room and the last thing that was sent was two days ago, which is unusual for his friend. He’s about to shoot a message- of what, he doesn’t know. Instead he just sends a post, hoping to receive a reply. 

“Tommy?” Phil’s voice fills his head. His head jerks up, remembering he’s still on a call. 

“Yeah, yeah, what’s up?” He says quickly.

“Just wondering if you’re gonna play Rust with me and Wilbur tomorrow,” he asks. 

“-probably get Tubbo, too,” Wilbur mumbles.

Tommy shrugs even though they can’t see it. “I don’t know, ask me again tomorrow,” he rubs his eyes. “Too tired to think right now,”

“Understandable,” Phil sighs. “Alright, I’m gettin off,”

Tommy’s about to say his goodbyes before he remembers Techno. “Hey, wait, Phil, have you ended your stream?”

Wilbur snorts. “He ended it, like, five minutes ago,”

Tommy waves him off. “I wasn’t listening. But- hey, both of you. Either of you heard from Techno recently?”

A couple beats of silence, then,

“Ah, no-“

“I haven’t, no,”

Tommy scratches at his hairline. 

“Why?” Phil asks.

Tommy refreshes the app, expecting some kind of response from him. Nothing.

“No reason,” he sighs, “I’ll see you two,”

He leaves the call, and just to make sure, he pulls up Minecraft. 

Nobody’s in the SMP. 

He joins Hypixel, because maybe he-

No friends online.

He sighs, shutting off his computer. He starts heading towards his bed when his phone buzzes, and a feeling of relief washes over him.

But it’s just discord. Wilbur messaged him.

‘Everything okay with Techno?’

A weird feeling of frustration takes over. He doesn’t reply. He shuts his phone off, barely plugging it in to charge before he flings himself into bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it was smaller than usual- I’m taking extra time to write the next chapter as it’s feckin massive. 
> 
> What do you guys think about the new title? I’d call it a upgrade.
> 
> Have a good day all!


	4. Teasing Fractures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Techno.

When Techno wakes, it’s not to a ray of sunlight. 

Something is pushing into his side, trying to move him. Images of zombies trying to rip the flesh off his bones fill his head and he leaps up, sword in hand.

He blinks once, twice.

No zombies. Just Carl. His head is bowed, and his eyes are carefully studying him.

Techno rubs a hand down his face, sheathing his sword. 

“Jesus,” he mutters. 

Carl blinks.

Techno sidesteps the horse and peaks out of the wooden door. No mobs in sight, but the sound of them burning rings out. 

He sighs, pushing his hair out of his face. The braid had all but fallen apart in his sleep. 

As he fixes his hair, he carefully listens outside. The last zombie drops. Only one spider in the area. There’s the distant echo of a skeleton, the noise of rattling bones bouncing off the empty buildings. He closes his eyes, trying to focus.

Chickens. The high pitches of the clucks barely carry across the wind, but he recognizes them.

He pulls his braid tight. “Alright Carl,” he says, opening the door for his friend, “let’s get grubbin’,”

When he guides the horse outside, he hops in the saddle and flicks the reigns. They take off, his cloak flying out behind him as they run opposite to the wind. 

As they near the animals he carefully lets go of the reigns, getting his inventory out. His bow materializes in his hands as he pulls the string back with ease. He squints, trying to pinpoint vitals he can’t see.

He shoots. One down. He lets the other two flee.

He reigns Carl in and walks over, pulling his arrow out of the corpse. 

A small part of him feels bad. It’s a feeling that never went away, no matter how many times his Dad took him hunting as a kid. He’d fire the shot into the deer, barely taking any knock back from his first hunting rifle. Half the time he’d miss and it would run away- the other half, he’d watch it fall to the ground. 

He remembers a specific time where he was aiming for a buck, a small two-point thing, and had hit a young doe by accident. His Dad had told him to wait in the deer stand, but he clambered down as fast as he could. 

He got within a couple feet of her before he saw the buck in the distance. It’s sharp gaze was cutting in to him, antlers now tall and menacing from his place on the ground. 

He froze up. The doe was dying, the buck was ready to charge at him, and he was frozen. He remembers dropping his crossbow, not being able to hold it from the nerves coursing through him. He remembers a tear making its way down his cheek, one of the few times he’s cried as a child. 

He remembers a flash of green and the clank of a sword. He didn’t open his eyes until all the sounds stopped. 

The doe was dead. Phil was standing over the buck, the latter also dead. He remembers the look in Phil’s eyes as he tried to stop crying, he tried, but he couldn’t. 

He zones back in on the chicken and blanches. 

Dad. _His_ Dad. Not Phil. Philza Minecraft is _not_ his dad. 

He shakes his head and rolls his sleeves up. He needs a distraction. Preferably several.

He’s about to grab the carcass with his hands before he stops, turning to look at Carl.

“Can I put this in my inventory?” He asks.

Carl doesn’t blink, just bends down and bites at the ground. 

Techno sighs and tries to think. If he has all these memories, surely he remembers how to store a chicken.

He comes up completely blank.

He sighs. Apparently this world only works in ways he doesn’t want it to. 

He grabs it by the feet, tying it up to a strap off of Carl’s saddle. 

“Let’s go...” he trails off as he hops on the saddle, looking around while he remembers everyone who might have a furnace in their house. 

His eyes meet the sun, just now fully visible above the horizon line. The sky is orange, and the wind still has an early morning bite to it.

He tugs the reigns, turning Carl around. “Let’s go home,”

\- - -

He picked up three more chickens on the way home. The ones closer to the Dream SMP were fatter than the wild ones in the forest, but Techno doesn’t remember seeing any meat at his base, so he collects.

Once Carl’s feeder is properly stocked and an apple is thrown his way, Techno gets to work.

He’s never cooked much of anything. His Dad taught him how to use a grill once. He doesn’t remember anything from it.

Nevertheless, his first move is to change his shirt. Scrubbing blood out of clothes is a harsh process, and for some reason he can already feel the ache in his shoulder. 

He throws on a simple sweater. It’s a rough wool thing, the color a faded blue. Wilbur had given it to him after seeing where he was living now. He was worried he’d be cold.

Once he’s back in the kitchen, he falls into a rhythm he didn’t know he had. Boiling water, de-feathering, proper decapitation- he’d be impressed with his work, except for the fact that it feels natural.

A quick memory surfaces- A long morning of hunting, a long afternoon of learning the right way to de-feather a chicken. The air was thick with humidity and the sound of bugs beat at his eardrums. 

The chicken he was working with vanishes. His hands fall through to the counter, and he cringes at the feeling of chicken juices coating his palms. 

He wipes his hands off on a towel and brings up his inventory.

There it is. Apparently that’s what a raw chicken is defined as.

He brings it back out, the meat hitting the counter with a satisfying slap. 

“Alright,” he says to no one, giving the chicken another slap. “Cookin’ time,”

He sticks it in the furnace and grabs the other three, taking them down to his basement to store in a freezer for later. 

After cleaning off his hands, he sits down and brings out his book. He quickly jots down his thought;

\- Raw food stored as raw raw

He blinks at the sentence he just wrote. Ink doesn’t erase and he makes tiny laments in his head before accepting it. He knows what he meant, and that’s all that matters.

He’s about to put it back in his inventory when he hesitates. He opens it back up and writes,

\- false memories merging with real ones

He underlines it as a reminder. 

\- - - 

A couple hours later and he’s back on the road.

He’d decided to head to the nearest village to see if there are any people there. There’s only so much conversation a horse can hold, and he wants to lay eyes on another human.

As he trudges through the swampland, he almost regrets not taking Carl. It would’ve been a lot faster, but he doesn’t have a boat on him, and he’s been too nervous to even try crafting anything. 

As the village comes into sight, he hears an enderman nearby. He automatically brings out his axe without pulling up his inventory.

“Woah,” he says, and then the enderman is right in front of him.

As a tall guy, most people he meets are shorter than him. It’s something he’s used to, especially seeing as the only taller person he knows is his dad. 

But this. This is something else.

The enderman croaks as he stares fixated on its abdomen. Half of him desperately wants to run while the other half is indifferent.

_Could always use more pearls,_ his mind whispers to him.

He squeezes his eyes shut. Skeletons, spiders, zombies- all things he’s grown up with in the media. But Enderman... 

They’re alien; otherworldly.

He takes a breath. He’s overreacting. 

He lifts his gaze, ready to stare the thing down when it teleports. He whips around looking for where it went, but it’s long gone.

His hands are trembling when he puts his axe away. He balls his fists up until his knuckles are white.

He kicks at the muddy ground. 

These past days have been so confusing, the most confused he’s ever been. He’s tired. He wants a break. He wants to understand something, he wants to be able to firmly understand who he is, what he is, where he is, he wants to not feel crazy,

He squeezes his eyes shut. Breathes.

Panicking doesn’t get him anywhere. Panicking doesn’t get him anywhere.

He mouths the words to himself. He can’t freak out now. He needs to figure out how to leave this place, then he can freak out. He can freak out in the years of therapy that are inevitably going to come. 

He trudges forward, lightheaded.

The village is bigger than what he remembers. As he walks in, the solid dirt path turns into a cobbled one. There’s people milling around, a few children here and there. They all look similar-

They’re all from the same kingdom. A dictator had come to power, and the poor district had come together and split off from the land. The King had then sent an army on them, and the survivors set up camp here. Now it’s turned into a town.

He remembers the woman who told him that story, the way her hair was sloppily cut because she took an axe to it, the way they struggled through the language barrier. 

He realizes he’s getting stares. He’s been here multiple times and lives just around the corner, but the people here don’t trust him. 

He watches as one mother beckons her child inside, even shutting her windows. He pretends not to see. 

_Nobody trusts a hybrid,_ his thoughts whisper. 

He reaches a small market area. It’s nothing to be proud of, only a few small stands, but he looks anyway. 

One of them hosts loads of gems and jewelry. The glare of a golden earring catches his eye. It’s only a small stud, but something at his very core is drawing him to it.

He vaguely remembers piercing his ears as a child. How the first one hurt, how the second one bled, and how by the fourth one it didn’t hurt. 

He struggles a moment. Pierced ears can be badass. Or he could leave it alone, because he’s never worn jewelry in his life, and he’s not starting now.

He glances at the stand again and doesn’t register he’s walking towards it until the vendor his talking to him.

The words are fast and he doesn’t catch a single one. He raises his hands and forms a sign he doesn’t know.

_Gestures._

The vendor smirks at him, nodding. A woman walks up to him, saying something Techno doesn’t understand. 

_Yes. Buy?_

The vendor chuckles at whatever she says. Techno points at the stud.

_Gold. Cost?_

The woman laughs, putting her arm around the vendor. Maybe they’re married. Either way, Techno is feeling more than self-conscious.

_Four. Emeralds._

Somewhere Techno registers that as a rip off, but he doesn’t care. He can tell the gold is real at the very least. 

He opens his inventory and the woman gasps. He looks at the two and they’re looking back at him with wide eyes.

_Six,_ the vendor signs, _Six._

He scrunches his eyebrows. He looks around for a second- maybe they saw something- but it’s only them. He can see a man looking at him from across the way, but he brushes it off.

He pulls out the emeralds, handing them over.

They trade and the woman snorts, saying something to the vendor. The vendor smacks her playfully, but laughs. 

Now he just wants to go home. He was hoping his social skills may have gotten a boost from all of this, but he wishes he was a hermit now more than ever. 

When he turns around to leave, the man is there. Up close, he can see the details- grey hairs, old face, impressive beard, and homemade clothes and materials.

“Aren’t you Phil’s kid?”

Techno blinks. He looks the man up and down and something pings at the back of his head. 

The man quirks an eyebrow. He’s probably waiting for a response, but Techno thinks he deserves a little bit of thinking time.

“They called you Hoarder,” the man points at the vendor behind him. He says a few words Techno can’t understand to him. 

The woman sharply inhales, and the vendor mutters something.

“They’re sorry,” the man narrows his eyes. “Sort of,”

A memory surfaces- this man was at his house. Techno was milling around their new chicken farm, and this guy and Phil were inside. He stopped by a couple more times, but Techno never saw him past the age of seven.

He blinks, realizing he’s been staring and not saying anything for about thirty seconds too long. 

“Um-“ he starts. “I- yeah?”

The man looks him up and down and snorts. “Never was much of a talker,”

Techno ignores that. He racks his brain for more details on this guy, but all he comes up with is seeing him and Phil through the window. 

The man clears his throat. “So how’s Phil? Haven’t seen that guy in a while,” 

“Uh...” he looks around, hoping to find an answer. Instead he’s met with the uneasy stare of the vendor, in which he promptly turns back around. “He’s... yeah, he’s alright,”

The man raises an eyebrow, and with the way he’s keeping eye contact Techno is ninety-nine percent sure he’s seeing through all of his lies.

“You want to walk?” The man asks. Techno can tell it’s not a question.

They avoid the main street, instead taking small unpaved roads to the outskirts of the small town.

“Y’know,” the man starts. “You’d think a player would know better than to open their inventory in front of people,”

Techno falls behind a little, watching the back of the man’s head carefully. His hand is gripped near his sheath, ready for the handle of a sword. 

Techno doesn’t say anything, and the man never goes on. 

They reach a small house that’s so run down it looks abandoned. He remembers being here before, but why, why was he here?

The man knocks on the door, shouting something he doesn’t understand. Another shout comes from the other side of the door, and the man steps inside.

Techno shuffles in behind him, ducking his head beneath the door frame. 

The room is the same as the last time he was here. There’s still only one chair and one bed, there’s still only one woman, and there’s still the same amount of dust floating in the rays of the sun coming through the window. 

The exchange is familiar- the man sits in front of the woman and they begin to talk. It’s the language he doesn’t understand, so he stands back by the doorway trying his best not to look intimidating.

The conversation is quick. In the end, he makes her laugh, and she gives him a few potions. He recognizes one as regeneration, but the other two are foreign to him.

When the two of them step out, the man hands him the potions. “Hang on to these,” he says.

Techno takes them, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because only one of us has an inventory,” he says, swiping dust from his clothes.

Techno’s face twists even though he wills it not too. These past few minutes have been arguably some of the worst he’s had, and this is all making it worse.

“Look man, I’m gonna be real with you,” he sighs, “I’m not Phil’s son, I’m not from here, and I only slightly remember you... I think,”

The man nods, his lips pulling into a thin line. “I just thought we had something going where we weren’t going to mention it,”

Techno stares- blinks once, twice. “Um-“

The man laughs at him. “It was a nice try, but you make it pretty obvious,”

His tone isn’t threatening, but Techno’s fingers itch for a hilt. Instead they grip the potion bottles just a little harder, teasing a fracture.

The man turns and motions for Techno to follow him. They’re heading in a direction away from the village, away from his home.

“I know you aren’t Technoblade,” the man starts, “But right now you are,”

Techno nods. He opens his mouth to add to it, but quickly shuts it. 

“All I can offer is information, something to help you out,” he continues, “you can stay with me tonight, if you want. I’m just passing through, I’ll be gone in the morning,”

Techno mulls everything over in his head. That was another one of those not-questions: he doesn’t have a choice regarding where he goes tonight. But the man seems trustworthy enough, and he feels that any kind of clarification is going to be able to help him.

“Here,” the man offers, holding his knapsack in his hand.

Techno quickly sticks the potions in his inventory and grabs the bag. “Why...” he trails off. The bag is heavier than expected, but nothing he can’t easily handle. 

The man waggles his finger. “Only one of us has an inventory,”

Techno’s eyebrows scrunch together. “I can’t even...” he shakes his head, “okay, so you have one, I don’t. Why,”

The man trudges on and Techno can see the border of the swamp in the distance. 

“Also where are you taking me,” he quickly adds.

“There’s Players, and then there’s everyone else,” the man starts. “You’re a Player. You have some kind of magic in you that I don’t,”

Techno squints. “Okay. Magic. Yeah. What kind of magic exactly?”

The man shrugs, scratching his beard. “Who knows. That’s something I’ve been trying to figure out for a while. It’s why-“

He abruptly cuts himself off when they both hear the hiss of a creeper. Techno drops the man’s bag, pulling out a crossbow and firing a bolt. The man pulls out a throwing knife and the second the weapon is lodged into it’s abdomen, it turns to ash.

“Nice one,” the man says, bending down to grab his knife. He gestures to his bag with his knife, “Maybe hang on to that a little better next time,”

Techno hums, mumbling a short ‘yessir’ and slinging it over his shoulder.

The man claps his hands. “Anyway- the research, it’s why I was seeing you and Phil all those years ago,”

That sounds familiar. He vaguely remembers a few things like being asked to open his inventory or craft something.

“Players are-“ the man hesitates, “for the most part, people are wary of Players. I think it’s justified, too. You people are practically immortal, after all. Only allowed an average of three heroic deaths,”

Techno lets the word heroic bounce around in his head. He thinks of Phil killing Wilbur, Tommy taking an arrow to the head for L’Manburg, Tommy sending Jack falling into lava-

Okay, he snorts at that. He doesn’t know what kind of entity is in charge of defining which deaths are heroic, but they seem like a pretty funny guy. 

“What’s that?” The man asks.

Techno quiets himself. “Nothin’,” he squints then, focusing on the loose grey hairs on the back of the man’s head, “Hey, uh... what’s your name?”

\- - -

The ambiance in the air changed as soon as Techno’s foot had hit the cobbled path. They’d been walking for several hours, the sun working on its descent now, and he had heard this village long before he saw it.

Ingerame had talked his ear off on the way here, even if it was appreciated. It was mostly about Players, but there were a few things about magic here and there. 

He had also talked about hybrids, the humans fused with animals or mobs. 

As far as he goes, Techno has been trying his best not to think about it, but that’s a bit hard considering it’s his whole being right now.

As they’re walking through the streets, which are much more crowded here, Techno can’t help but notice every single person is human here.

He remembers when Phil would take him to the nearby village to shop. All of the kids either didn’t like him or were scared of him. He wasn’t keen on making friends anyway, but the stares still stung.

Someone bumps his shoulder, jolting him from the memory. He blinks, snapping back to the busy path, and shudders.

He feels alienated. No, he feels like an alien. He’s human, but he’s not, and...

And he decides no psyche was meant for something like this. He rubs his eyes, trying his best to expel his thoughts. He’ll try and wrap his mind around this later when he’s not surrounded by hundreds of people.

As they get closer to the center, the town gets impossibly louder and more crowded. Anytime Ingerame gives him directions he has to lean down to listen to the man. 

They make it to the market square, where music is filling the atmosphere. Ingerame drags him around to different stalls, handing him whatever product he’s bought.

“Do not bring up the i-word,” he says after pulling Techno down by his sleeve, “people here will hurt you,”

He thinks that’s fair, but at the same time he’s dressed in royalty wear with bright pink hair and a sword strapped to his hip- he’s pretty sure these people can put two and two together.

Ingerame goes through almost every stall. When the noise picks up he’ll switch to Gestures, in which Techno can actually follow along. Watching Ingerame argue and barter with the vendors is definitely something.

On their way out of the square he asks Ingerame about the language they speak here. 

“Esseti,” he waves his hands around, “one of the more common dialects in this area,”

Techno nods like he understands.

Once they leave the village, Ingerame starts taking him towards where they’re setting up for the night. With the way they’re travelling now, he’ll have to head almost true west to get back to his home. 

As the sun threatens to submerge under the horizon line, they reach sand. It’s not like the beaches he’s used to- the sand is rough and smoothed over, and the water is crystal clear. He can almost see the sunset through the ocean.

“I’ll set up camp,” Ingerame states, “you get to work on making a dock- we’ll fish for food,”

And fish they do. Only a sliver of sun is left, and the fire between the two of them is not quite enough against the chill of the waves.

The roar is calming. It’s loud, but not so loud they can’t hear each other. The mist clings to his clothes and the sea foam laps at his feet.

Ingerame lights a lantern, casting orange across the dock.

“So... what is it,” Techno clears his throat, “what is it like here?”

And Ingerame goes on for what feels like hours. They catch fish after fish and it feels like Techno is time traveling with how fast the moon seems to rise.

At some point Ingerame flips the question- what is your world like?- and Techno brushes it off, saying it’s similar, but also very different.

“What is this place in your world?” He asks, gesturing around.

Techno opens his mouth, the words at the edge of his tongue, and he stops himself. 

“Do you really want to know?”

Ingerame falls silent, busying himself with making another campfire.

Techno opens his inventory and a certain slot catches his eye. He grabs the item, opening it to the first page.

OBSERVATIONS

He starts to write everything Ingerame had been telling him. The more he writes, the better he feels. The better he feels. The better he feels.

Maybe if he keeps thinking that he’ll believe it. In reality, a solid, heavy brick of cold naseau seems to have settled in his stomach.

Techno writes. The fire lights. The fish cook, the fish are being eaten.

“Do you... huh,” Ingerame huffs between bites, “do you remember anything between the last time you saw me and now?”

Techno shakes his head. It’s not like he’s trying to remember, though- not like he wants to try either.

“What do you think got you here, then?” 

Techno squints at the flames.

He must’ve taken too long to respond because Ingerame speaks up again.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

And Techno spills. His last memory was falling asleep in his bed, but for some reason he’s telling his life story. His siblings, his parents, his friends, his job- all of it.

By the time he’s done he’s barely keeping his eyes open. Something inside him his screaming murder at him, _stay alert stay alert,_ but he doesn’t care now. He’s too tired to care.

He falls asleep sitting against his knees, not able to make his way over to the tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never heard Techno say ‘grubbin’ but I am 98% positive he would use it.
> 
> Not too happy with how this exposition of a chapter turned out, I’ll probably end up rewriting it in the future.
> 
> The next chapter will almost definitely be late. I have a lot of things going on in the coming two weeks, and I haven’t even started writing it yet.
> 
> Nevertheless, I hope you all enjoyed the update.


	5. Barely-There Embers

A twinge in his neck wakes him today. Sleep lines engrave his face, his back is sore, and his shoulder cramps when he stands up to stretch.

He feels like something is trying to tell him it’s going to be a bad day.

The previous campsite is gone. The burnt wood of the campfire and the dock are the only things left. 

He doesn’t remember much of building the dock. The last hours of yesterday had passed by in a blur; the only thing he solidly remembers is being sad.

He rubs his eyes, shaking out the grogginess. He needs to get something done today. 

His stomach grumbles and he realizes he doesn’t have any food on him. He sighs. Bringing up his inventory, it looks painful. It looks like he’s more ready for a UHC duel rather than trying to survive.

His eyes skim over the book and a few moments of last night trickle back. He quickly closes his inventory, already feeling that awful weight settle in his stomach again.

He needs to leave. He wants to go home, and the closest home he has right now is wherever Carl is. 

His muscles ache thinking about how far him and Ingerame had walked yesterday. His feet shuffle through the sand anyway, soles barely leaving the ground.

He almost misses the piece of parchment by the fire.

It crinkles as he picks it up and shakes the sand off of it.

_Technoblade_

_I did not want to wake you, so I am leaving you a note._

_I am sincerely sorry about your situation. The city I am heading toward is large. I will ask around about your friends, but no guarantees that I will hear anything._

_I hope you find your way back home._

_Ingerame_

He folds the paper carefully. It’s nothing like printer paper. He can see imperfections where other materials were combined to make this- nothing like the smooth pages in his notebook. He drops it into the ashes, a few embers searing the edges.

He isn’t sure who is ‘friends’ are. The most he remembers from last night are ramblings and a healthy bit of hyperventilation. Or unhealthy- whichever way you want to look at it.

He starts dissassembling the dock. He can use the wood to make a boat, which makes getting home much faster.

Friends. Who did he tell Ingerame are his friends? Did he mention the other SMP members last night?

The beach was cool at night, but now the sun is beating down on him, and his attire certainly isn’t helping. The heat comes from all around: the sky, the ground, and from inside. It makes him want to rip his skin off.

He sticks the wood into his inventory and tries to focus on working.

He carefully puts the logs into the crafting slots. He’s not 100% sure what he’s doing, letting his hands do most of the work.

He sets the crafting table down in the sand with a soft _thunk._

After setting the planks down, he steps back and watches as a boat forms. It would’ve been cooler if it wasn’t so hot.

He pushes the thing down the bank, stepping inside as it reaches the water. The wind picks up then, and even with no sail it propels him forward.

The cool air is a relief. The sweat gathered down his back now sends chills all over his spine and he sits back, trying to work the twinge out of his neck.

Sleep still tugs at his eyelids and he sighs. Food would be nice. So would a Coke. 

He could be having his routine now where halfway through the day he goes and grabs a drink from the kitchen, where his dad always is. Then they’ll start up a conversation, sometimes keeping him out there for hours. They’ll talk about anything from his job to his Dad’s job, both of which are uninteresting to the other, but they still go on. 

He had a stream scheduled for yesterday. He was also supposed to work on a video to upload, even dedicating an extra hour to it this week. 

He could be reading right now. Thousands of pages, hardback covers with good artwork and no reviews on the back, just the blurb. Only the blurb.

An achey pulse balloons from between his eyes, cinching off at the back of his head. He presses his knuckles into the line of hurt, but it doesn’t help.

He wants his bed. He wants to crawl under sheets that stay just slightly warmer than the room itself, never overheating in the night and not too comfortable to get out of in the morning. 

He wants to wake up to the sound of plates clattering in the sink. He wants to wake up to the sound of his sister’s voice over the phone. He wants to wake up to the sun in his eyes. 

He glances up, seeing land quickly near him. His gaze goes up, up until he meets the sun.

Black spots dance around his vision. He squints, still, looking for something.

His bottom lip threatens to quake. He’s looking for familiarity and he’s found none. The sun- something that, fundamentally, should always remain the same, is different. It’s too close, too white, too different, too different.

He mindlessly drags the boat to shore, sticking it in his inventory. 

The cool sweat lining his hairline quickly turns to needles as the temperature drops. Snow lazily falls from the sky, a bitter juxtaposition to his heart rate.

He trudges through the snow. His head buzzes, the headache spreading. His thoughts are slowing, and he can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing.

He glances at the sun again before the clouds completely overtake it.

He’s so far from home.

His eyes sting as the wind picks up. His fur cloak is discarded, sat in a chest in his house. This one is nothing but show, and he’s feeling the consequences now.

He could stop. He could stand in this snow until he’s nothing but a part of the land. No brain to think, no sun to crave, no family to miss.

His foot catches on ice and he stumbles. 

No. No, he needs to make it back. 

He needs food. And water. And sleep. 

And Carl is depending on him. 

With that thought in mind he picks up the pace. He’s been gone for a whole day. Carl’s probably wondering where he is. 

His jaw is set, his teeth gritted. He pushes his thoughts away, focusing instead on the cold and his headache. Not the best alternative, but an alternative nonetheless.

Sometime between one and ten minutes later he sees familiar light in the distance. His face stings and his eyes water, but he’s back.

The wind has died down, but the snowfall is still heavy. He murmurs apologies as he lowers the tarp over Carl’s stable. He can’t get rid of the snow already inside, but this is the least he can do. 

He doesn’t realize he’s shivering until he’s inside. His fingers violently shake as he strips his damp outer layers. 

He doesn’t bother hanging them up. He makes quick strides toward his fireplace, throwing more logs in. Even as the fire grows, the shivering doesn’t stop. 

The light burns his eyes. The heat reaches a point where it’s uncomfortable, especially with the contrast of the cool floor. But he’s shaking, a permanent shiver wracking his frame. He has a white knuckle clutch at the sides of his cape, and it’s not helping at all.

His headache starts to scream at him and he stands, nauseous and light headed. He stumbles into his room, looking for something.

His vision blurs as he digs through a chest. What’s he looking for? His fingers meet cloth, leather, wood, no, no, that’s not it either.... 

He slams the lid shut in frustration and the noise reverberates in his skull. He squeezes his eyes shut until it stops.

He backs away and crosses the room, a blurry glint catching his eye. He almost trips trying to reach for it.

The gold piercing he bought yesterday. He clutches it in one fist, and with the other he opens the drawer underneath it. 

His stash. _His_ stash. All of his gold. 

With shaking hands he grabs his necklace. It takes several tries until he’s able to secure it behind his neck. The familiar chill shocks his skin, and he gasps.

He vaguely registers he’s hyperventilating as he puts the piercing in. His throat burns. His eyes burn. Everything burns.

His ear flicks and he can feel the cool metal move. He hates it and loves it. 

Black spots tease the edge of his vision as he reaches for the last item. He coughs and they spike toward the middle, quickly receding again. 

The crown. His crown. 

He turns it, drinking in every little carving, every hand-carved gem stuck inside. His fingers run across it frantically, tracing every dip and curve.

The sole green gem catches him like an arrow to the side. He stares at it, reflection hidden in the solid color.

Warm liquid tracks down his cheeks. 

He doesn’t realize he’s outside until a harsh gust of wind slaps at his raw wind burn. He’s in the process of lifting Carl’s tarp up and opening the gate.

He tries to say something, any kind of greeting, but it chokes in the back of his throat. 

Once Carl’s out he hastily slams the gate shut, fumbling with the lock. 

The trip is short. Shorter than he expects. Half of it was him battling with staying conscious, trying to breathe and choke back tears at the same time.

He coughs harshly once they hit the wooden path. He doesn’t remember getting here. He doesn’t remember the ocean or the forest or the buildings on the horizon. 

His diaphragm convulses and he has to stop Carl. It feels like his lungs are being squeezed by an iron fist. 

He hunches over, gripping at the reigns. He feels Carl walking forward, slower than before. He lets go of the reigns. Surely, surely, he can trust him.

He feels bile start to rise as he looks around.

Just as before, he’s alone. A complete ghost town. 

The sun is close to starting its descent, making the buildings cast weary shadows. 

He sits up, abdomen aching. 

He doesn’t want to be alone anymore. Carl isn’t enough. Ingerame wasn’t enough. Those villages- not enough. They’re not real. They’re computer generated, not genuine, not real.

He lets out a nasty cough. Carl’s ear flicks back toward him. 

“Sorry,” he manages to mumble. “Sorry, sorry,” he rubs a hand down the horse’s mane. His voice is rough, scratching around in his throat.

The steady beat of Carl’s hooves bangs around in his head.

“I want to go home,” he says shakily. “I want...” he chokes out a sigh, words leaving him.

Words are hard. He heaves, getting another breath. 

They come out of a tunnel and all he can see is a blur of wood. He can hear water rushing, and a few lights flare at him in the sky.

Carl takes him down and they slowly circle around. His breathing starts to even out as they walk. It’s not home, but it’s close. Closer.

Carl takes him up to the cliff overlooking the country. A few houses are still being constructed along the edge, and they weave through the sites.

He stumbles off of Carl, all but collapsing. He catches himself, keeping an arm across the saddle for support. 

He stops, waiting for his knees to stop shaking.

This is close to home, but it’s not enough. A big, gaping hole is left behind as the grip releases from his lungs. The ache starts to move to his heart and it _hurts._

He clutches at his shirt, almost convinced his heart is trying to beat its way out of his chest.

He chokes again, a fresh set of tears making their way down his face. 

He just wants to go home, and he doesn’t know how to leave. He doesn’t even have an idea of where to start. That’s the worst part about it all- he’s trapped, and his hands are completely and utterly tied.

The realization hits him like a train. 

He staggers over to the cliff side. His knees give out but he pushes forward until he can see the country below. 

He isn’t sure what he expects. It’s a blur of nothing; nobody is down there waiting on him and nothing has changed. He’s stuck. He’s wholly stuck.

He looks back up at the lanterns in the sky. He thinks of late nights in a field, crickets chirping, siblings bickering, and four bright lights floating in the sky.

He watches as they get further and further away. He watches them bob and weave for the few seconds he can. At the last moment he screws his eyes shut and braces for impact.

The back of his head hits the stone first, and everything goes black.

\- - -

He wakes to a whisper in his ear.

_Late._

He sighs. It always starts out slow. Then it comes all at once.

_Wmeilscsoemdeyboauck_

_!hyoowuramrieciyso_

_muuWteec_

_danTthessece_

_retehne_

_isscbrleae_

_cneWhwahtos_

_legdoiynlgaot_

_ne? dtihd_

_ihseiascpcoigd_

_geenrtsally_

He shuts his eyes and breathes. With practiced ease the voices retreat to the back of his head.

He slowly shuffles out of bed, bones popping and muscles stretching. His hair flows down his back, which is odd. He normally keeps it braided at night-

He freezes, blanching. He respawned. A quick glance down confirms it. He’s in his sleepwear, a simple shirt and shorts. He respawned- no, he killed himself. He threw himself off of that cliff with the intent to die.

And now he’s here. The brief flash of his skull cracking open against stone rakes claws down his back. He shudders, shaking the sound from his head. 

He takes another breath. And another. His eyes catch his mirror and he watches himself breathe. In, out. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. The unfamiliar-familiar gaze.

Freaking out will get him nowhere. Freaking out again will get him nowhere.

He opens his inventory. Nothing. 

All of his things are in that pit. His books, his cape, and his gold. 

And Carl. He left Carl.

With that thought he quickly throws some clothes on. Just before heading outside he has half a mind to at least grab a sword. And a boat. And a couple of apples.

This time the trip is peaceful. His thoughts are his own and his hand is steady. The boat ride is even nice, the waves almost nonexistent. 

He looks out at the water. It’s impossibly clear. If he had his glasses he’s sure he’d be able to see to the sea floor. Smudges of exotic colors swim around him and he can almost make out the displays of sea corals at the bottom. 

The air is fresh, slightly tangy with salt. He almost feels relaxed. 

The low hum of voices in the back of his head doesn’t bother him as much as he thinks it should. Truly, it only sounds like his regular chat. He only catches the occasional word, things like ‘nerd’ or ‘pog’, but for the most part it’s one big drone of indiscernable sounds.

He leans back in the boat, watching the sun set. Slowly, carefully, he allows his thoughts to wander.

Dying won’t get him anywhere. Ingerame had talked about the three lives rule, so that’s definitely a thing. He’s not sure whether he just used up one of his lives or not. What would happen if he used up all three? 

He pushes the question away. He doesn’t want to experiment with death anymore. That whole debacle earlier? One time thing. A mistake, a misclick, whatever. It’s not going to happen again.

This time he goes right to the docks, tying up his boat instead of keeping it on him. The waves lazily knock it against the dock. The sound is nice, he decides. 

Heading into L’Manburg, he can barely make out the outline of his friend. He hasn’t left the edge.

He quickly scales up the side, Carl trotting over when he spots him.

“Hey,” he greets. Carl rams his head into his chest and snorts. Techno brings a hand up, scratching behind his ears. “I know, I... I’m sorry. That you had to see that,” he stutters out. “Probably scared you...”

He brings out an apple and Carl takes it eagerly. The sun is dangerously close to setting and all he has is his second best sword on him.

He pats Carl on the side of his head. “I’ll go get my things, then we’ll go back home.” He tosses another apple his way before taking off. 

He half runs-half slides down the edge. His things wait for him almost unscathed near a wooden pillar. He mechanically sorts through everything and once the sword his sheathed, his cloak is on his shoulders, and his crown is on his head, he’s ready to leave. 

He glances up when he hears a noise. A zombie on the opposite side of the pit. It hasn’t noticed him yet. 

The sun set.

He looks up, eyeing the dark sky. Most of it is blocked by the wooden platform, but he can still see so many stars from here.

He sighs. He could be alone here forever. His stomach churns at the thought, and he lets it. He soaks it in the best he can, trying to process it.

Being alone is something he’s never had to deal with. Sure, he’s had weekends and even weeks with the house to himself. He’s gone weeks without calling anyone, isolating himself within his room. 

But even then, they were just a phone call away. This? Being completely, utterly alone? This is something new. Something he never thought he’d have to experience, either. He’s 90% sure the human psyche is not built to handle things like this.

He blinks. He’s still going to try. He’s going to try his hardest to find his way back. There’s still the off chance that this is all one huge nightmare anyway.

As he hauls himself out of the pit, he hears a familiar yell. 

He quickly pulls himself onto the wooden platform and squints, trying to pick out where it came from.

He watches a zombie crawl it’s way out of the dirt tunnel across the land, tumbling down the staircase. He cringes. The sound of rotten flesh and bones hitting the ground isn’t exactly Mozart. 

He hears a cheer and a figure runs out from the tunnel.

“Yeah, you better run bitch!” A blur of red and white stands triumphant at the exit, brandishing what looks like sticks in each hand.

Techno watches with wide eyes as a spider jumps on the boy, tackling him to the ground. The two wrestle it out for a second until the spider is thrown off the side.

The figure stands and starts to shout something else, and he can tell the moment they make eye contact. The figure freezes, words dying off.

“Tommy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience, here’s the next chapter!
> 
> Not sure why I felt the need to beat this man to a pulp in this chapter.
> 
> I like the thought of the boats relying on wind rather than oars to move, kind of like how the wind works in Ghost of Tsushima. I mean the thought of rowing so hard you go at light speed is pretty funny, but I’m sticking to my alternative.
> 
> You can kind of tell what the voices are saying if you read every other letter, if you’re that interested. I also think the voices would be complete gibberish to him, considering just how fast his chat goes. 
> 
> Did you catch where his friendship emerald is?
> 
> And final question: Do you guys prefer when people write in accents/slang, or do you prefer regular wording? I’m considering re-writing Techno’s dialogue so it reads like how he’d say it, but the apostrophes could get annoying.
> 
> Thank you all for reading!


	6. Jackbox Should Be Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy POV

“Hey, fellas,” he greets.

Quackity gives a small ‘hi’ and Wilbur hums in greeting. 

They hop into discussions of who’s going to be streaming and what all they’re going to be playing. It’s an easy rhythm, something they’re all familiar with. 

He hears a screech on Quackity’s end.

“I hate this fucking chair,” the man in question laughs. “Listen to this,”

Which then launches them into a conversation about whether or not gaming chairs or worth it, ending on whether or not you could beat someone to death with one. 

As Wilbur laughs about the fact that “you wouldn’t even be able to get it over your own head!”, Quackity’s snickers fall silent.

“Hey, guys,” he says, and the other two listen. “Is Technoblade responding to you guys? I DM’d him a couple days ago and he hasn’t even read it,”

Tommy hums. “No, same here. I’ll try- I’ve been trying to talk to him, he’s not responding to anything,”

Wilbur stays silent. 

“Woah,” Quackity exhales. “That’s- I mean... Are you guys worried?”

Tommy starts to feel the familiar throb by his temples- one signaling stress, frustration, and whatever else he was feeling. He pushes into the spot with his fingertips, trying to chase it away.

“‘Course I’m fuckin’ worried...” he murmurs. 

He’s not mad. Just... frustrated. Frustrated he can’t just walk over and knock on his door, frustrated he can’t do more than send him a message over Discord a couple times a day. 

The sound of someone joining the VC fills his headset, along with a ‘hello?’.

He relaxes a little with Tubbo in the call, listening to him talk about a certain game in Jackbox 2. Apparently they haven’t played it yet and several people want them to.

When Tubbo pauses to breathe, Wilbur slips in. “I sent him a few texts, I’ll let you all know if he responds,”

“Who?” Tubbo questions. They brush it off as Karl joins the VC, continuing on to other subjects.

Tommy shoots Tubbo a few quick messages,

_It’s Technoblade_

_Guy isnt responding to anyone_

_Its been a couple of days_

It’s been more than a couple of days, but he’s choosing to try and not think about that.

Tubbo doesn’t reply anyway, simply reading them.

As he starts his stream, Tommy’s able to fall back into his rhythm. Brash, crude, and loud are all things he seeks comfort in. Temporarily, all of his worries can be put at the back of his head.

They’re in the middle of submitting different prompts when Wilbur speaks up.

“I need to-,” he clears his throat. “I’m gonna go get some water,”

The time for prompts is up and Wilbur isn’t back. 

“You snooze you loose baby,” Quackity says in his half assed British accent. The round starts, and Wilbur’s turn is painfully silent for a couple seconds.

Karl is quick to jump in and make it a bit, everyone else joining him. It almost goes smoothly until they’re almost done with the round and Wilbur still isn’t back. His chat isn’t helping either. A few people have started asking _‘where’s Wilbur???’._

But finally, finally, when the throb threatens to return, Wilbur’s back. He greets everyone with a sigh and the sound of him chugging a water bottle.

“‘M back,” he says. 

Quackity and Karl start yelling. 

“You won!”

“Here’s our winner!”

Tubbo claps into his mic, distorting the audio.

Wilbur chokes. “What?”

They laugh, and Quackity explains that he missed the entire round. 

Wilbur clears his throat. “That’s fine, that’s fine, I’ll just- I just want to watch, if that’s alright,”

Tommy tries not to look concerned. He mutes and reads off subs and donos, trying to block out whatever’s happening.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Quackity pauses, “is everything all right?” 

Wilbur hums, and Tommy can hear him lean back in his chair. 

For the rest of the game Tommy watches Wilbur periodically mute and unmute. A comment here, a comment there, but overall too quiet. 

They finish another game with Tubbo as the winner when Wilbur comes out of a two-round-long deafen. 

“I think I’m gonna go, it’s- I’m tired,”

They say their goodbyes and Tommy tabs into Discord.

_Something going on?_

He almost doesn’t expect a response until Wilbur starts typing.

_no, don’t worry about it. just tired :)_

Tommy thinks that’s absolute bullshit, but it allows for the remaining half of his stream to go smoothly. His swing is back and his quips are quippier. His background music keeps his pace; chill, but unrelenting.

The final win goes to him and he cheers, loud and proud. He cuts his celebration short, wary of his parents, but the smile doesn’t leave his face.

Quackity slow claps into the mic. “Good game Tommyinnit,” he annunciates, sounding like someone has a gun pointed to his head.

Tommy holds his hands up. “Thank you, really, it’s an honor, thank you,”

His stream is about to hit the hour forty mark, so he quickly excuses himself before muting, sending the viewers off. 

“-gonna raid Quackity. QuackityHQ. Alright- see you all! Goodnight!”

As the numbers drop he unmutes. It’s just him and Tubbo. Karl and Quackity are joining some kind of Among Us stream, something him and Tubbo opted out of. 

“Good stream, big man,” Tubbo starts. “Do you know what Wilbur was doing that whole time?”

Tommy hums a no. As an afterthought he checks the time, which is nearing eleven at night.

“I’m gonna message him...” Tubbo trails off, voice replaced by the clicks and clacks of his keys.

Tommy internally sighs. He has to go to college tomorrow and he’s going to be exhausted for it. If he goes to sleep now...

As if intentionally trying to thwart his thoughts of a healthy(ish) sleep schedule, Wilbur joins the VC. 

“Hey,” he greets and oh man, he sounds... nervous? Exhausted? Either way, he sounds off. 

“Wilbur? What’s going on?” Tommy greets back, because at this point, the ‘I’m just tired’ thing was clearly bullshit. 

Wilbur exhales and his breath hitches at the end. Tommy and Tubbo stay quiet, waiting with baited breath.

“Okay, this... listen. This is serious. You guys aren’t allowed to tell anyone. I mean it, this is...” he trails off, stopping himself with a frustrated sigh. 

At this point Tommy’s not sure if he wants to know anymore.

“Yeah, of course,” Tubbo responds lightly. “You know-... we wouldn’t,”

Wilbur inhales sharply. “Techno- Techno’s father, he got back with me. Um, he’s- Techno- he’s in the hospital. He’s, uh... he’s not waking up,”

He could barely even hear the last part, but the quiet words feel like a weight in his stomach. “What?”

Wilbur sighs, and Tommy can picture the man with his face in his hands. “They don’t know what happened. He didn’t tell me anything else, just that he’ll let me know if anything improves,”

And Tommy blanches. ‘Improves’- he hates that word. 

“Now, seriously, don’t tell anyone. His father doesn’t want this getting out. I’ll break the news to everyone, and if anyone asks you anything, say... say he’s taking a break. Okay?”

They both echo small ‘okays’. 

Wilbur huffs. “This- I’m sorry, this sucks. But... I’ll be here, yeah? We can- we’ll get through this,” his voice lilts at the end, going scratchy. 

Tommy hums, only because he doesn’t have any words.

Wilbur drones on a bit more but it all sounds like static. At some point he leaves the call and it’s just him and Tubbo and Tubbo’s trying to talk to him, he should probably respond, say something.

“I’m tired,” he blurts.

“Oh- yeah, me too. Should I...” Tubbo trails off. “Do you want to leave?”

Tommy barely even gets out a goodbye before hanging up. He throws himself into bed, only getting back up to change pants and switch the lights off.

He shoves his head in his pillow, trying to forget all of what just happened. 

Techno-

Don’t think about it.

In a coma, in the-

Don’t think about it.

He feels like he’s about to rip his brain apart as he tries to find something to focus on. 

Video ideas, he can use this time to brainstorm. What else could he do? What’s something no one else has done before? Maybe he could do something new for a stream soon. Maybe his next stream. He has all this time to think, he can come up with something, surely. 

He tries to suffocate his thoughts with his own thoughts. He can’t think coherently, but at the same time he’s thinking so much. 

And the whole time he’s wide awake. He waits for the eventual tug, the weight on his eyelids, but it never comes. He’s stuck with staring at the streetlight poking between his blinds. 

He feels like the sun could be rising at any moment when his phone lights up on his bedside table.

The light burns his eyes as he’s checking the time. 

It’s barely even been an hour.

He almost rolls back over in frustration until he catches the notification.

🔴 Watch live now: Technoblade: 

He blinks. Blinks again. Sits up, rubs his eyes, pinches himself.

His first thought is okay, he’s not dreaming. The second is did Wilbur lie?

Confusion dances across his hairline as he clicks the notification, bringing the app up.

It’s just a black screen. No audio either.

He checks the chat- they’re just as confused as he is.

He switches to his PC. He’s wide awake at this point, he’s sure he’s not getting any sleep tonight.

As soon as it boots up he’s greeted with the sound of someone calling him over Discord. He accepts, not bothering to check who it’s from.

“Tommy?” Tubbo’s voice leaks through. He sounds worried. “Are you seeing Techno’s stream?”

He hums, words lodged in his chest. The sound gets stuck in his throat and he grabs a half-full water bottle on his desktop, chugging the rest of it.

“I don’t even know- I mean, I feel like we should do something?” He ends as a question. 

Tommy sighs. “I don’t know,” he tabs over, checking the stream again- still just a black screen. “Maybe we...” he trails off, words leaving him.

He hears Tubbo clicking at something. “Mm- Quackity and Wilbur are in a vc, let’s join them,”

He clicks the icon, voices filling his headset.

“-nothing. Hey- Tubbo? Tommy?” Quackity says.

“Hey big man, what’s going on?” Tubbo asks.

“We don’t know,” Wilbur answers. “We’re not sure why- I’m talking to his father right now, he doesn’t know either,”

Tommy shuts his eyes, rubbing his face. This is weird. No, this is too much. It’s too much and it’s making him feel weird. Really, he wants it all to stop. Then maybe he’d be able to sleep.

“I’ve been walking him through ending the stream on Techno’s PC, he says it’s quote ‘just not working’,” Wilbur sighs. “I don’t know what to do,”

“Hey, it’s fine man, you’re doing your best,” Quackity bumps in. “At least it’s just a black screen,”

Wilbur hums, but the thought doesn’t make Tommy feel any better.

“I’m trying to get Phil on, he still has Techno’s login but he’s not responding,” Wilbur says.

He starts to feel a tug at his eyelids. He props his elbow on his desk, resting his face in his palm. If this is what gets him to sleep, he won’t complain. 

Well, he will a little. It’s not the most desirable situation. 

Whatever’s started pulling him down seconds ago is desperately clawing at him now, and he has to catch himself before he passes out on his desk. 

He’s not sure where it’s came from but it’s dragging him down again and this time he isn’t prepared. He practically collapses, hitting his head on his keyboard. 

He shoots back up when several, several noises fill his headset. Clearly he hit some keys he wasn’t supposed to, and he frantically starts adjusting his windows.

He finally finds himself back in Discord, but when he checks the time it’s wrong. He hasn’t been in this call for two minutes, let alone an hour.

He squints at the time and vaguely registers Phil’s voice.

“‘S late,” he says to no one in particular.

“Tommy? You awake?” Phil asks.

He nods as black dots start to swirl in his vision. A distant roaring sounds, like the ocean itself is right outside his window. 

“Jesus,” he mutters.

He doesn’t even have time to get to his bed before being dragged below the depths.

\- - -

He stares at the landscape before him, one that’s just so familiar.

“Holy shit,”

Maybe he has been playing too much Minecraft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate writing about real people but chapters like this are necessary ;-;. 
> 
> I’m pretty sure all chapters like this will feel off since we can only guess what these people are like offline. It’s especially hard trying to guess how they would deal with something like this. I promise everything’s going to get better after this, since I’ll be moving more towards their characters.
> 
> Happy Valentine’s Day by the way! I was snowed in for mine so I couldn’t do anything, but I hope you all had a good one.
> 
> Also 200 kudos! Oh my god that’s nuts
> 
> I just noticed the thing at the bottom where I’m asking if I should continue this work: I’m definitely continuing it I just don’t know how to get rid of it help me


	7. Crater Greetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy’s Arrival.

“And who the fuck are you?” Tommy yells across the open space. The words ricochet across the curve of the crater, hitting his ears three times over.

Techno blinks, squints, wonders if there’s an optifine zoom function in this world, and takes a step towards the boy.

“It’s Techno,” he grumbles back, “Why are-“

“Why the fuck are you here?!”

Techno keeps in a huff, pinching the bridge of his nose. He motions for Tommy to come closer and Tommy rushes down, taking the steps two at a time. When he nears the bottom the zombie from before grabs his ankle, causing him to yell out and face plant into the ground.

Techno grimaces, half-jogging over unsheathing his sword. He stabs it through the zombie’s skull while Tommy sits up, rubbing the dirt from his face.

“Now that,” Tommy fixes him with a look, “was the zombie’s fault,”

He doesn’t reply, just holding out a hand to help the boy up.

When they make eye contact again, Tommy straightens up. “So why are- hey,” he raises his hand to his forehead, then looks back down to his torso. “I feel short. Do I look short?”

Techno looks him up and down. Tommy’s supposedly 6’3, but right now Techno definitely has a couple of inches over him. He huffs out a ‘yeah’, and Tommy hums noncommittally. He looks back up at Techno with wide eyes, as if remembering he exists.

“Okay- this is meant to be my dream. So why are you here?” Tommy jabs a finger at him, “Out of all the things to dream about why would I pick The Blade?”

“Uh...” he casts a glance to the side. 

“And Minecraft,” Tommy goes on. “But dreaming about Minecraft is pretty pog. Ah, I’m in the Dream SMP. But real life. Yeah...”

Techno grimaces and wishes anyone else was here to break the news instead of him. 

“I shouldn’t be short though. I’m meant to be huge in my dreams. Biggest man alive,”

“It’s probably ‘cause you aren’t dreamin’,” Techno watches his face carefully, waiting for him to process it.

Instead Tommy laughs. “Yeah, okay Technoblade. So are we in the Dream SMP? Is that what this is? I mean, of course it is, that’s L’Manburg...”

Techno frowns. “Tommy, this isn’t... this isn’t a dream,”

Tommy stares at him. For a moment, confusion clouds his eyes, but he shakes it away. “No, no, because I just went to sleep. Whenever you sleep you dream,”

Techno fixes his gaze on the ground. God, he _really_ wishes he was anyone else right now. He rubs his neck, biting back a sigh. “Tommy. I’m being one-hundred-percent honest here. You’re-“

“Holy shit!” The boy squawks. 

Techno’s eyes dart up to the sight of Tommy’s inventory. 

“That felt like- euh, that felt gross,” Tommy shudders. “Oh, but that’s so cool.” He starts to move his sticks around to other inventory slots, watching the way they materialize and dematerialize.

Techno lets out a huff of frustration. “Tommy, you’re not listenin’ to me,”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “‘Course I’m not, you’re just part of my dream and I’m trying to have some fun here. You _should_ be listening to me, actually, since I created you ‘n shit,”

It’s the first genuine human interaction he’s had here and he already wants to throttle this kid. “That’s-“

A snarl reaches his ears from the left and he pulls out his crossbow, shooting the zombie heading towards them. It takes two hits between the eyes before it goes down.

“Oh my god!” Tommy watches him with wide eyes as he puts the weapon back in his inventory. “Can I-“

“Let’s go somewhere else,” Techno interrupts. He grabs Tommy by the shoulder, steering him down a path with the least amount of mobs towards the heart of the SMP. 

“No, hold on, how did you do that?” Tommy tries to stop them by digging his heels in the ground, but it just slows their pace.

Techno grunts, pushing Tommy forward and making him stumble. Tommy raises his hands in mock surrender, taking up a regular pace beside him. Carl takes up a stride behind them, flanking the duo.

“I’ve been here a few days,” Techno shrugs.

Tommy gives him a funny look, one that makes Techno falter. He’s about to ask what’s wrong, but Tommy beats him to it.

“How long exactly?” He looks apprehensive, one of his hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

And now Techno is uncomfortable. “Uh...” What’s wrong with how many days he’s been here? “Two? Uh, three, technically,”

Tommy’s brow furrows. “But that’s... that’s how long you’ve been away,”

Techno quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“No, no,” Tommy waves him off. He rounds in front of him, halting their walk. “Techno, you- you’re in the fuckin’ hospital. You’ve been gone for three days. You-“ Tommy cuts himself off. “You’re in the hospital,”

A familiar burn starts to creep behind his eyes. “What do you mean,”

Tommy continues like he didn’t even hear him. “We’ve been talking to your dad, he said- he said you just weren’t waking up-“

“Tommy,”

“Wilbur was trying to- to help- and you started your stream, with the screen- how did- and you’re-“

“Tommy!” Techno barks. 

Tommy puts a palm to his forehead. “Is this not a dream?” His eyes are wide in disbelief, but Techno needs to put this story together.

“Hospital, Wilbur, my dad, and my stream,” Techno lists off. “Clarify,”

Tommy takes a breath, his eyes fixed on the ground. “You’re in the hospital. Wilbur tried texting you to see what was wrong and your dad answered. Then- then your stream started, but it was just a black screen. Wilbur-“

The rest starts to fade away as Techno hears one of the voices loud and clear.

WHY IS IT JUST A BLACK SCREEN?

He can hear it from other corners of his mind if he focuses. He can hear all sorts of things- confusion, spam, bad jokes- all of it.

Fuck. He’s hearing voices. He’s honest to god hearing voices. 

He’s must’ve done something wrong because the previous muscle memory of sliding the voices to the back of his head seems to vanish. They all come flooding to the forefront and it’s all he can hear, all he can even hope to focus on. Tommy, the buildings, even the ground under his feet starts to fade away. 

The volume alone is enough to make him dizzy. Millions of thoughts buzz all around him. 

_Better than nothing lmao_

_Does he know we can’t see or hear_

_Y’all wtf_

_TECHNOBLADE STREAM POG_

_At least they’re harmless,_ something whispers to him. 

But the noise. Thousands of people all shouting at him at once. He’s sure his ears are bleeding; humans aren’t built to withstand this kind of volume.

“Techno?”

_You’re not human_

“Technoblade,”

His vision focuses for a moment. Tommy’s in front of him, looking up at him with wide eyes. 

_You’ve seen this before_

He’s seen this before. Five years ago at their home. 

The leather of the hilt was digging into his already raw palms. Each breath stung his lungs, sounding more like snarls than gasps for air. 

He could smell blood. Taste it. The wide, scared eyes of the prey was below him. It tried to run but his foot was digging into its chest, pinning it to the ground. Bones splintered beneath his feet and he relished in the sound.

He held the sword high, ready to plunge it into its neck. 

“Techno,” it wheezed. 

All he saw was red.

“Technoblade,” it cried.

The sword isn’t in his hands anymore and he lunges at the first thing that moves.

His nails catch skin. 

“Hey, Techno,”

He digs harder, deeper, waiting for a pitiful whine. 

“That’s alright,”

He cries out, something that belonged in a war rather than a pasture. He raises a fist but it’s stopped, caught mid-swing. 

The red fades to white. He doesn’t know what happened after that.

_You know what happened_

The way Tommy avoided him after that. The way he’d stand as far away as he could with him in the room, the way he’d look at him with fear in his eyes. 

Previous admiration replaced with trepidation. 

_He wanted us gone_

He had to leave. He couldn’t stay in that house.

_We had to leave_

“Techno!”

He chokes, jolting into a defensive position: feet grounded, forearms forward and eyes clear.

“What the hell, man,” Tommy squawks. “You went all- all spacey and shit,” he gestures with his hands. 

He huffs, an attempt at regulating his breathing. It works (ignoring the shake in his hands) and he relaxes, shuffling his feet into a more casual position.

Tommy’s hand waves in his face and he blinks. Ah. He’d been staring.

“You okay?” Tommy asks, and oh god, they’re heading towards territory Techno wants to avoid as much as possible.

He clears his throat. “We’re stuck here,”

Okay, maybe he avoided the topic too hard.

Tommy opens his mouth to say something but stops himself. “Fine. Okay,” he brushes it off.

Techno very silently and minimally celebrates. He’s not ready to unload all of these newfound memories on anyone. Especially on a kid, no less. He breathes, trying to quell the small shake in his hands. 

What he saw was just a memory. It was in the past, and it’s not something that will affect him here and now. It’s not even his own memories; honestly, it should be like watching something behind a glass wall.

_Except for the fact that you feel everything_

He hears a hiss and zones back in to watch Tommy pinch himself. He looks back up at Techno with wide eyes.

“Are dreams the one where you feel pain? Or is that... do you...” he trails off and Techno watches as the realization slowly dawns on his face. “So we’re really... stuck here?”

Techno clears his throat and shifts his weight anxiously. “Uh... yeah,”

_Angstinnit_

_Big brother Techno!!_

_Technocomfort Technocomfort_

He squints at the voices. He’s not a fan of the sudden clarity of some of them.

Tommy sets his jaw, his gaze anchored to the ground. “Okay... this- this is a lot to process, Technoblade,” he clears his throat. “Um- what’s this then? Is this the inventory or something?”

He pulls up the glowing screen and Techno nods, humming in affirmation. 

“So do I just...” Tommy squats and picks up a flower, then shoves it toward the screen. It accepts, sorting it into the first open square. “Woah. I could put- I can carry so much stuff. What do you have?”

Techno opens his obligingly and Tommy whistles at the sight. “Y’know, I could help carry some- I could help carry that crossbow if it’s too big a load for you,” 

Techno quirks an eyebrow. “Mm. You could...”

Tommy smiles for a second but quickly shoves it down and clears his throat. “Yeah- yeah. No, yes, I definitely could take it off your hands. Since it’s just- y’know, it’s an all-round bother to haul around,”

Techno sighs and rolls his eyes, and motions for them to keep moving. There’s a couple of mobs up ahead, maybe 100 feet away. 

He equips the crossbow, carefully handing it to Tommy.

Tommy gasps, a small squeak of “oh my god”. 

Techno points to the mobs up ahead. “There’s two over there,”

Tommy nods. “Right,” he bends down, leveraging his weight and cocking the crossbow, then loads a bolt inside. Techno watches him take aim.

Tommy exhales and fires. It hits the torso of the zombie. It’s not enough to kill it, and Tommy quickly reloads as the zombie charges for him. The spider at its side still hasn’t noticed the situation.

In a flash another bolt lodges itself in the zombie. It goes down, and Tommy changes his sights to the spider.

He takes a couple of steps forward, squinting at the mob. Another exhale, another bolt, and the first bullseye. It goes through its head and into its torso, killing it before it knew what was happening.

Techno is about to start the congratulations until he turns to see Tommy. 

_TECHNOCOMFORT_

_for the love of god just talk to him_

_Get your crossbow back, he’ll try and keep it_

_Don’t lose your crossbow_

The crossbow hangs limp at Tommy’s side, his other hand at his forehead. His eyes are glazed over, confusion filling his face.

_GET THE CROSSBOW_

He grimaces, guiding the crossbow out of Tommy’s hands and into his inventory. The voices immediately quiet.

Now for the hard part.

Tommy’s other hand is pushing back his hair and Techno can see a sheen of sweat despite the night chill.

“Tommy?”

Tommy exhales shakily. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“I saw-“ Tommy breathes. “It was- it was me and you in some fuckin’ forest. We got lost and it was getting dark, and you- you gave me your crossbow and we ran. That was the first time- no, no, I’ve never shot a...” he trails off.

He vaguely remembers it. Tommy getting them lost, not keeping track of time, too many zombies... he grimaces.

“Yeah... it’s something I’m trying to figure out,”

Tommy watches him like a hawk, waiting for him to continue.

Techno clears his throat, eyes looking anywhere but at Tommy. “It’s some kind of memory thing,” he gestures. “It’s something to do with our characters... that’s the best I got,”

Tommy raises an eyebrow. “What, like our characters in the Dream SMP?”

Techno nods.

“And the memories- they’re... is it all the stuff in the script? The- the lore? Is that...”

He keeps quiet, watching Tommy process everything.

Tommy stares at the ground. “This is fucked,” he spits. “This is... fuck, I got all fucked over didn’t I? I was just trying to fall asleep but I couldn’t ‘cause I was thinking about- well, you were in the hospital and now you’re here, you’re walking around in Minecraft as some kind of- of pig-man in a crown and I’m here with you we’re just walking around in Minecraft-“

“Hey,” Techno grumbles. The voices are still on about ‘Technocomfort’, but he doesn’t like the way these mobs are eyeing them. “We can’t panic now. We can panic when we get out, right now we need to think about survival,”

Tommy blinks, realizing yes, it is nighttime, and yes, they are practically surrounded by mobs. But the words start to sink in and he adopts a sour face, crossing his arms in protest. “Technoblade I think right now is a perfectly sound time to panic,”

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever- look- I’m still not entirely sure how the respawn system works so we need to find somewhere away from this,” he gestures towards the mobs.

Techno turns, picking up the pace when he hears Tommy’s stumbling steps behind him. 

“How does- I mean, do we respawn? What do you know about it?”

Techno grits his teeth, biting at the inside of his cheek. “We do respawn,” he says slowly. He clears his throat before continuing, “The three lives system is still in place, so assuming we don’t use all of those up, we’ll be fine,”

Tommy’s quiet next to him. Techno brings out his crossbow to shoot down a few mobs blocking their path. Tommy eyes it warily. 

“What if we do? Uh- use them up,” he asks.

And that’s not a question Techno wants to consider right now. He answers with a shrug and a simple ‘no clue’.

“We should go back to the em- my house,” Tommy continues. “I’ve got items there, I can gear up and shit,”

And he doesn’t even know what to say to that. 

“Why’re you starin’ at me like that?”

Techno sighs. “We were just there,” he sounds out, “we were just at your house. Now we have to go back,”

Carl snorts behind them, making Tommy jump. His head whips back around and he almost looks offended. “Does that horse always follow you around?”

Techno turns, making a point to aggressively crossbow the mobs on the way back. He’s refusing eye contact right now, but he doesn’t need to see to know Tommy’s giving him some sort of look right now.

The moon is high in the sky when they make it back, casting a glow across the land. Techno fastens Carl out front, and as Tommy opens the door to his house a glint of moonlight reflects off of his face. Techno squints, and he’s not positive, but he’s pretty sure he sees scar tissue. And last time he checked, Tommy had no scars on his face.

He clears his throat while he crosses through the doorway.

“‘That a scar?” 

Tommy whips around with wide eyes. “Uh...” he glances at Techno, then back to his chests against the far wall. “What?”

Techno taps his cheek, pointing to where Tommy’s is.

Tommy’s hand quickly snakes up, his fingertips brushing the scar. “Oh. Uh, yeah, it’s...” he trails off, and Techno sees some kind of realization flit across his face.

Tommy swallows. “It was me and Dream’s duel. The one for L’Manburg. I think I took an arrow to the face or- or something...” he trails off, gaze fixed on the floor. His hand lingers on the scar.

Techno clears his throat and Tommy blinks.

“Yeah... yeah, anyway,” he says, going back to rifling through his things.

Techno watches his back until he realizes Tommy’s shoulders are shaking. 

Okay. That’s a problem. How does he fix this? 

_TALK TO HIM_

_technocomfort_

_tommy:((_

_What’s the with black screen guys_

_HELP HIM AWWW_

“Didn’t ask you,” he mutters, and Tommy whips around, because apparently Techno’s lost his brain-to-mouth filter and he just said that out loud. 

The dim lighting catches on his wide eyes, and if he had to guess there’d be beginnings of tears.

Tommy quickly wipes at his eyes. “Sorry, sorry, this is just- it’s a lot, it’s a lot to- uh, to take in, all at once, it’s just...” he tries to laugh, but it comes out as a wet heave. “Oh my god,” he slowly sits down, back leaning against the chest.

He watches as Tommy hugs himself, taking deep breaths. His eyes catch on the shiver wracking his frame, and he finally notices the chill in the earthen home.

Well, that’s at least one thing he can fix. Better one than none.

He unclasps his cloak and drops it on Tommy’s shoulders.

“What-“

“Shock blanket,” he shrugs, taking a seat next to him.

Tommy stares at the ground before pulling the cloak around him tighter. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “Sorry, I guess...” he pauses to breathe but he chokes, falling into a coughing fit. “Shit,” he wheezes out.

He needs to think of something to say. How does he go about this? Does he relate? Does he ramble? Does he start a conversation?

He clears his throat. 

Wait, he doesn’t know what to say yet.

He opens his mouth. Guess he’s going in.

“It’s weird,” he starts. “All of... this,” he gestures around, “definitely isn’t normal. But- it is normal to react like this. The human mind wasn’t built to handle something like this, so I think that freaking out is- it’s not something bad, right now,”

Tommy holds his forehead in his palms, his knees pulled up to his chest. “You _just_ said now’s not the time to panic,”

Techno rolls his eyes. “That’s when we were surrounded by mobs,”

Tommy sniffs. “Yeah, fair enough,” he casts his gaze downwards. “Yeah, I guess... Okay. Um. Thanks,”

Techno hums, trying not to cringe. This is probably his least favorite part of conversations. 

“Let’s- can we stay here for tonight?” Tommy starts. “I’ll just get my stuff in the morning,”

He hears shuffling and turns to see Tommy already laying on his side. 

He hums. Guess they’re staying here.

He stays up for a while shuffling through the rest of the chests, picking out what they do and don’t need. Most of it is random junk so it doesn’t take long until he’s settled down in the corner opposite of Tommy.

The guy in question is out cold and he’s already managed to sprawl himself out, the cloak beneath him forgotten. 

He’s not alone out here anymore. But that raises another question- will it just be the two of them, or will there be more?

Apparently time in the real world is still going by normally, if what Tommy told him is true. And he’s... he’s in the hospital. 

The thought makes him nauseous and he casts it aside. He can worry about that when he’s back in the real world.

His livestream too, and the way it won’t turn off. It’s disconcerting, to say the least. It’s probably freaking out plenty of other people too, if Tommy’s explanation is anything to go by.

If he had to guess, the voices came from the livestream. Maybe something happened when he respawned, either way he’s missing the drone of nonsense from a couple of hours ago. The new voices are weird, to say the least. They all sound like real people, and his biggest worry is that they’re going to get more realistic as time goes on.

_> :(_

He doesn’t even know how they make that sound.

He pulls his knees up to his chest and lets his eyes wander back to Tommy’s form. 

_somebody could sneak up on him right now_

_TECHNO YOU’RE VULNERABLE_

_Shouldn’t he at least have his sword out or smthn??_

_YO WHAT IF TOMMY KILLS HIM NOW BECAUSE OF WHAT HE DID_

_NOOOO TECHNOBLADEE_

His fingers fumble as he unsheathes his sword, setting it by his side. The voices all quiet down and he huffs, probably a bit louder than necessary. He doesn’t like this addition to his thoughts.

As he manages to relax, images play against the back of his eyelids. 

The door bursting open with a crack, the rain getting inside.

Someone... Phil? He’s yelling at him, giving instructions. Techno moves quickly and automatically, grabbing potions and bandages and other medical miscellany. 

Someone’s sitting on the couch. They’re sitting in his spot, but he’s okay with it right now. He hurries over to them, wiping away dirt and blood. He pauses his work to look up at their face, but he doesn’t recognize who it is.

They smile and say something. Techno would respond, but his hands are busy. He gives the person a look to say that he’s busy, he can’t talk right now. The person quiets.

When he’s done he goes to Phil’s (is it Phil?) side, where he has another person laying on their table. He’s cleaning away blood too, much more than the other person had.

This time, when he looks at the face he automatically recognizes it. 

Tommy.

This was the first time he met Tommy. Tommy, who was bleeding out on their dining table. Phil... no, maybe-Phil who was trying to save his life. And the mystery person sat on their couch, soaking wet but much more alive. 

The memory starts to fade away until it’s replaced by nothing more than a calm void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Not too impressed with how it turned out, but I finally managed to churn it out. Future chapter updates might be far apart like this one- school is kicking my ass right now haha.  
> \- I realized this chapter (and the ones before it) is a little angst-heavy, I promise not every chapter will be like it. This story will move on to bigger and better things than just everyone freaking out :).  
> \- Exploring Technoblade’s voices a little more is interesting. Thoughts on them?
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Next one will be out in anywhere between two weeks and two months lmao.


End file.
